


I wanted to be seen

by Anonymous



Series: Various Discord Server Fics [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialogue, Yeah it's another server thing except this one happened like - Freeform, and it's not related to the Server Rebellion au - Freeform, friends to political enemies - Freeform, it is also raining, so much, the day after the smp election - Freeform, the girls are fighting...., yeah but havok and fizz talk about the dreamsmp election
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He cannot look her in the eyes. His friend, his sister - she has to understand. “Have our years together been for nothing? You know me, Fizz.” He is unable to stop his voice from breaking. “You know me.”She waits for a moment, for a few seconds too long. She waits, like she never should have. She waits, and she realizes he is not going to turn in tandem with a bolt of lightning, streaking free across the sky.“I do, and you’re right. I was a fool to assume you’d have changed in the time of our friendship.” She has stopped yelling. Her words are acidic, venom leaching into his rib cage and freezing the marrow in his bones. “I was a fool,” she hisses, “to have had faith you would have learned.”
Relationships: Havok & Fizz, I.....well actually not really
Series: Various Discord Server Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031769
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Anonymous





	I wanted to be seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KenkuKry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenkuKry/gifts), [FizzyOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizzyOrange/gifts).



> fun fact - most, I'd say about 98% of this dialogue is ripped straight from the instagram dms. so
> 
> I reordered and edited a few things so it'd flow better but yeahhhh

It is raining. 

They are standing on the patio, their apartment complex rising far above them. The dark woods ahead glisten in the downpour, lit by the glow of the moon. Fog and mist make the world gray. The wind blows cold through the land. It seems a fitting backdrop for yesterday’s events. The old has been replaced, forcefully removed by order of the new Administration: J. Schlatt, their new president - Quackity, his right hand man. 

A crack of thunder tears through the sky. The echo sounds a lot like laughter. 

They are standing on the patio. She is restless, hands fluttering over her arms, pulling her coat across her chest. She shakes in the rain, and as he looks, as he sees, he knows it - call him a pessimist, call him whatever you like, tell him he gave up too early. She is shivering, he is breathing, and this is the end of the world.

“Who did you vote for, Hank?” she asks softly, barely audible over the storm.

They are standing on the patio, Hank and Fizz, and he knows before the words leave her mouth they will never stand together again.

“You hesitate,” she continues, tight. “Don’t tell me.”

“Pog, of course,” he is quick to reassure. It’s what she wants to hear. He almost stops there. He should stop there. He has always given her what she wants, but some selfish part of him tears raw and bloody at his throat. 

The winds of change blow through his hair, forcing it into his eyes and making it easier to blurt out the truth. “But I - I admit I thought of voting for _him_ , when it was announced.”

She laughs, dryly, not surprised. He isn’t sure if that’s good. “Quite a lot of people voted for Schlatt,” she says after a beat.

“They’re the reason we’re here.” He shifts the blame, as is his tendency, and his weight to his left foot.

“They are, they are. They will also be the reason we leave each other, if we’re not careful.” Her words weigh twice as much as they should. 

“We’ve already split, I think.” She knows it as well as he does. Her lips purse downwards, and he can all but see the switch in her mind turn over. Friend to enemy. How easily her eyes grow wary.

“But rest assured, I am no Eret,” he says, a last dredge of hope at tethering the past to this crumbling present. “If the Administration comes knocking with your name, I will not recognize it.”

“The Administration.” She cocks her head, calculating. Her gaze burns through his chest and it is increasingly hard to convince himself of his own lies. “What does that mean, Hank? You believe they’ll hunt me down?”

“The people you support are criminals,” he says. “I don’t believe that will go unnoticed for much longer.” 

She exhales. It mists in the air. “The people you support are totalitarian dictators -” 

Hank flinches. “Support is a strong word -”

“- and that won’t go unnoticed either. Their time is numbered, and once the rebellion takes place and peace returns, those who supported Pog will not be forgotten.” She sounds so sure. Her spine straightens. He remembers in a rush that he is not the one who went to war, all those years ago. 

“Rebellion,” he asks, but the word tastes sour on his tongue and it comes out more afraid than incredulous. “Quackity and Schlatt rightfully won.”

“They may have won the election, but they lost the popular vote. A majority of their own people despise them.” Her teeth gleam, sharp under her smile. “That number grows with every cruel policy they introduce.”

Hank stutters, floundering. “I simply live under their rule. You would call me a villain for my cowardice?” And he is a coward - he’s proven it time and time before. When the independence movement began, he stayed back. When the walls rose, he did not build them. When the election results were announced, he - he -

_The face of the former President is completely white. An arrow grazes his shoulder. With a horrified shout, he grabs his right hand man’s arm and pulls. Hank is not at the front of the pack, nor is his weapon unsheathed, but the Vice President’s agonized, too-young wail doesn’t fail to reach his ears; he runs after them for fear of being trampled._

_Later, she tells him proudly how she did not move._

Fizz’s face contorts like she can read his mind, like the scene is playing before her eyes, too. “In these times, cowardice and support all lead to the same result. So what’s truly the difference?”

Desperate, he grabs onto a flaw in her logic, finds safety in statistics. “Well, it - it’s called the popular vote for a reason,” he says, picking up in volume and faux certainty. “Sixteen percent like the President and thirty percent like the Vice President. Granted, that’s still a majority who dislike them, but Pog would have had more of the majority opposed -”

“Pog may have had their enemies,” Fizz interrupts, “but Schlatt and Swag undeniably have many, many more. They are going to bring about a rule of conflict and tension and oppression, and that is something we should all be inherently against. The rebellion should be the automatic position one takes.”

She is no longer shivering. She is no longer bothering to hide the look in her eyes. It is her turn to speak, and she shouts, and the traitorous words echo and vanish under another clap of thunder. 

And Hank - and he -

And he has always been a coward. 

“For someone like you, maybe,” he whispers. He cannot look her in the eyes. His friend, his sister - she has to understand. “Have our years together been for nothing? You know me, Fizz.” He is unable to stop his voice from breaking. “You know me.”

She waits for a moment, for a few seconds too long. She waits, like she never should have. She waits, and she realizes he is not going to turn in tandem with a bolt of lightning, streaking free across the sky.

“I do, and you’re right. I was a fool to assume you’d have changed in the time of our friendship.” She has stopped yelling. Her words are acidic, venom leaching into his rib cage and freezing the marrow in his bones. “I was a fool,” she hisses, “to have had faith you would have learned.”

It hurts. Oh, it hurts, and he has never been good at handling pain.

She diffuses like Icarus flying back to Earth, and the crash is her soft, low scoff. “But we’re both too stubborn to see past ourselves, aren’t we?”

“Perhaps, dear,” he chokes out, forcing a smile. “You and I, we were never meant to win.”

“Sometimes it really is just lose-lose, huh, pal?” She says it bold, half-truthful, half-sarcastic.

“Only you would dare to hope otherwise.” He says it quietly, and they both know it is fully a lie.

“That’s the difference between us, I suppose,” she continues. “That’s the difference between us I wish would change. Do you really have no faith in the righteous? No faith in the just? No faith in passion and hope and sheer luck, sheer belief?”

Even at the end, she cannot give up. The difference between them, he thinks wryly, is that he was born to lay his future in the hands of others and she was born to light the path he will never walk. 

“Passion gets you nowhere but killed,” he scoffs. “Belief has never done anything for me, why should that change now?” 

“Passion is what created L’manberg, or are you a traitor as well as a loyalist?” The barb lands directly as she intended. An uncomfortable guilt joins the heartache pounding through his veins. “Perhaps belief has never worked for you because you’ve never had enough of it. Perhaps belief has never worked for you because it’s not the belief alone that works. It’s just the vital catalyst.”

If there’s one thing he hates, it’s guilt. 

He stands up a little straighter. She dares lecture him on belief - on the principles of humanity her very voice crushes under its weight? 

“L’manberg was founded on an assumption of power and arrogance, the belief that we were above the law. Is that the justice you want?” he spits. “This election, as your own Vice President said. was just a way for Wilbur to hold his status over everyone’s head. Is Quackity not passionate for doing the same? Is Schlatt not just a different side of the same coin? You speak of belief,” and he finds himself laughing at a pitch too high, “well, I believe that nothing changes - one day, perhaps, Wilbur will sit back upon the throne and I will indeed be a traitor, or maybe it will be no one and we will be worse off than before.

“Your passion is admirable,” Hank lies with a breath too big, “but the sides are ever changing, and history is determined by the spin of heads over tails.”

She hadn’t even blinked during his tirade. As he hurls his last remark, her lips twitch, like this is what she wanted from him, and he blinks with everything crashing back down on him at once. 

He has always given her what she wanted. She opens her mouth and takes even more.

“Maybe the sides are ever changing to you,” she begins, “but I’ve always supported those I believe were on the side of freedom and justice and hope. That’s what L’manberg was founded for, to be free from a state that captured, oppressed, and killed those that did not follow its laws. 

“L’manberg was a safe place for us to be ourselves and live freely, and while Quackity certainly has the passion of Tommy, and Schlatt has the cunning of Wilbur, neither use it to create a world they truly believe is better. They would not sacrifice their most prized possessions for their beliefs, nor would they stick to their words to the bitter end. Do not,” she growls, “show me the correlations between our leaders and then tell me they are the same. It’s reductive bullshit. History may be written by the winners, but we aren’t reading a textbook just yet -”

She stops, closes her mouth tight, pulling her tirade to a halt so quickly she chokes.

The rain is so, so cold compared to her fire. 

“This is the here and now, Hank,” she says, “and while you reject belief, I shall cling to mine, use it to ground and secure me, and hope for the best while preparing for the worst.”

In all her shouting over the years, Hank has learned to listen, and what he hears in her words makes him wish she’d never spoken.

“You have to understand what you’re asking me to do,” he whispers. “You have to understand.”

And he’d thought she had learned to listen, too - thought their talks long into the night and too early in the morning had not been for naught -

But Fizz - but she - 

But she has never been a coward.

“You’re on the wrong side of history, my friend.” She closes her eyes. The rain blows in and rolls down her face, and for the first time since this conversation began, Hank starts to shiver. “I can only feel so much pity.”

And that is it.

There is nothing else that’s said. They stand there, silence accompanied by the rain and the thunder that laughs at them and the lightning that illuminates the twist of his lips as he holds back a whimper.

And he walks away. 

He turns his back on her. He feels rather than sees her run a hand across her face, feels her sigh tear the air near his ears, feels her eyes on his back as he pushes into the safe darkness of the woods, for he has always been one to run away.

_And he doesn’t know, and he will not ever know, but she stands alone on the patio for ten minutes straight._

_For Fizz has never been one to move._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Ken for that really lovely piece you wrote about the kevie war and inspiring me to write this I am gifting it to u for that reason yeahhh


End file.
